(I work at a local grocery store as a cashier. We sell frozen breakfast corndogs. They’re delicious; they are pancakes wrapped around breakfast sausages. The ends of the box are taped down. But a customer thinks that the box was tampered with when they see the tape.)

Customer: *stares at breakfast corndog box*

Me: “Is something wrong?”

Customer: “Yes. This box was tampered with.”

Me: “I see. Let me get you a new one.”

(I return from the frozen aisle.)

Me: “I just realised, after looking at all the boxes, that all of those have tape on the ends. I still got you a new box since the other one was dented.”

Customer: “That one was tampered with also; that one is taped, too!”

Me: “Ma’am, the box wasn’t tampered with. All the boxes are taped like that.”

Customer: “No, food boxes can’t be taped! I want you to get me an untaped one right now!”

Me: “You don’t understand. That’s just how that company packaged them.”

(A manager hears this back and forth, and comes to my register.)

Manager: “Is something wrong here?”

Customer: “This box of breakfast corndogs was tampered with, and your employee says that it wasn’t, even though it clearly was!”

(I explain the situation that all of the boxes are taped like that.)

Manager: “I’ll check the ones we have in the back, just to be sure.”

(The manager leaves for the back room, and comes back within two minutes.)

Manager: “[My Name] was right. That’s just how they’re packaged.”

Customer: “But food boxes can’t be taped, and the customer is always right! I expect a discount for all of this!”

Manager: “I’m afraid we can’t do that. If you’re so concerned about them, then you don’t have to buy the corndogs.”

(The customer quietly paid for the rest of her groceries, but then started ranting about how she should have been given a discount since we tried to sell damaged goods to her. She kept it up until she walked out the door.)

(Where I work, six of us get the chance to have a “business lunch” on the company’s dime, so we check out a new restaurant nearby. It’s a nice place, a little pricey, but the lunch menu is okay. We all place our orders, and everything seems fine, until the drinks come out and one of us is handed an iced tea.)

Black Coworker: “Um, I ordered the lemonade.”

Waiter: “Oh, sorry about that. Let me fix that right up for you!”

Me: *after the waiter leaves* “Is it bad that the first place my brain went to is, ‘Hey, that guy must have the racist filter on; the one black guy at the table must want the sweet tea!’”

(Everyone at the table starts laughing, including “the black guy,” and we affirm that, no, it WASN’T right but it WAS funny. He gets his lemonade, we place our orders, and eventually the food comes out. Five of us get exactly what we want, including one customized one. Guess what?)

Black Coworker: “Dude, seriously?”

New Server: “What’s wrong?”

Black Coworker: “I ordered the bacon cheeseburger with fries; this is a fried chicken sandwich and mashed potatoes!”

New Server: “Wh… Ah, I’m, so sorry sir, there must have been a mix-up. Let me go get that fixed for you!”

(This time there was no laughing. It also turned out that, no, there wasn’t a swap; that was what the waiter had written down! My coworker had ordered LEMONADE and a CHEESEBURGER, and was given SWEET TEA and FRIED CHICKEN. If everything had been messed up, it wouldn’t have been so obvious, but we definitely made mention of this to the manager before leaving, and my coworker’s portion of the meal was totally comped. At least the food — once it was corrected — was tasty?)

(I’m British but have been living in America for five years. I still have a strong British accent. My wife and I are in Cape May celebrating my 30th birthday, and we’re in a gift shop looking for something to bring home as a gift/souvenir.)

Me: “Hi! I love this mug. How much is it?”

Worker: “Oh, my God, your accent! Are you from England?”

(I get this a lot and it doesn’t really bother me, so I smile and nod.)

Me: “Yup. Been living here a while, though. So, this mug—”

Worker: “Do you know the Queen?”

Me: *laughs* “I haven’t met her, if that’s what you mean.”

Worker: *seeming genuinely disappointed* “Aww. I want to meet the Queen. I bet she’s cool. Oh! Hey! Do you know [Common First Name] and [Other Common First Name]?”

Me: “Uh… I don’t think so.”

Worker: “That’s my cousin and his wife! They live in England, too, in [Town]! Do you know them?”

Me: “That’s way up north, and I’ve never been there, so no, I don’t know them.”

Worker: “Oh. Well, they live at [full address], so if you ever go up there, say hi to them from me!”

Me: “Um… Sure.”

(She went on to ask me endless questions about whether I’d been to certain places she’d heard of or met people she knew. She was friendly, but eventually we left without buying anything because I couldn’t get a word in edgeways to ask about the souvenirs I was interested in!)

(We are out at a family dinner, and we happen to be near my uncle’s office. He is reminiscing about a sandwich shop he used to visit for lunches.)

Uncle: “They used to have the best bread! Used to have a salad bar, too; I’d use the cucumber slices and make the plate bigger, get twice as much salad. You do that, and get a water glass and fill it with soda, and it’d be a good meal. They used to give out those punch cards, you know, to buy four sandwiches and get the fifth free? I’d take them off my coworkers’ trays and just copy the other punches to fill out the cards. It was such good food. I wonder why they went out of business?”

Cousin: “Because of theft, probably.”

Uncle: “They were robbed? When?”

(I am going for my annual gynecologist appointment. Just as I am walking into the office, I see my doctor running out. He tells me he has to go deliver a baby. I wish him luck and head in to sort out my appointment, and see a woman talking loudly and angrily with the receptionist.)

Woman: “When will he be back?!”

Receptionist: “I don’t know. He actually said to cancel his morning appointments. He said he’d be back in an hour.”

Woman: “I can’t wait that long!”

Receptionist: “We do have an opening at one pm or you can reschedule!”

Woman: “No! This is unbelievable! I have my appointment! How dare he leave to deliver a baby?!”

(At this point, the receptionist, another patient, and I are all wide-eyed.)

Receptionist: *slightly losing her cool* “Ma’am, he’s delivering a baby. It’s an emergency.”

Woman: “No, it’s not! A c-section isn’t an emergency! I need my appointment!”

(They argue back and forth a bit before she walks off and I head to the counter.)

Me: “Hello. Should I wait or just come back? I know delivering a baby might take some time.”

Receptionist: “You can take the one pm appointment; he’ll be back by them. Some people don’t understand that someone having a baby is an emergency.”